Gauntlet
by sewn
Summary: Amberle trains for running the Gauntlet with her favourite uncle. [Amberle/Ander]


_A/N: This story contains incest._

* * *

The branch slammed into her face with enough force to snap her neck.

In an instant, Amberle was flat on her back and panting hard, air slammed out of her lungs and the bones of her face singing with pain. For a moment, she kept still, waiting for her body to reorient itself. She could tell nothing was broken, it just hurt like all of damnation and her back was starting to feel uncomfortable with her tied hands trapped under her on the forest floor. She was about to sit up but –

"What did I tell you about your hearing?"

The words blew warm and serious by her left ear, making the tip of her ear twitch. Warm hands took her by the shoulders and helped her sit up, the gentle touch making up for the critical words.

"I know, uncle," Amberle sighed.

They'd gone over this time after time – when she was running, she got lost in her own body, fell into listening to her heartbeat and breathing, fixated on her feet hitting the ground and the way her skin rubbed against the sheer fabric of her clothes. She still sensed the trees, the sudden dips and rises in the ground, but she soon lost track of the details. And ended up running straight into twigs and bushes and branches like this.

Amberle would have liked to explain to her uncle that it was because she was afraid that if she stopped listening to her body, she'd find herself disconnected from it and trip herself up for no reason, and she'd rather there was a reason for her failure.

She left her thoughts unvoiced and made to stand up again, but she could feel Ander's hand on her elbow again; he had moved in front of her, crouching at her level.

"Let's take a break, shall we? You look like you need it after that one." He sounded amused more than anything, not disappointed.

So Amberle sat back down again, cross-legged. She expected her uncle to untie her wrists and take the blindfold off, but he didn't. She could sense – and hear – him sit right across her: the faintest hint of his body's warmth in the air between them, the mild scent of his fresh sweat.

"Should I –" she began but he put his hand on her left knee and she swallowed the rest.

"No need. We'll get right up. I don't want you to lose your focus again." It was still there, always, the amusement. "You want to continue, right?"

"Yes," Amberle said without thinking. They had only been training for two hours today; there was still light left (not that it mattered), and her body still thrummed with energy unspent.

"You almost made it," he continued. He kept his hand in place; he was grounding her, Amberle thought, making her focus on something else than the sensations inside her body, an anchor outside her. His thumb rubbed her knee, a slow circle.

"We're two hundred paces or so from the clearing," he said. Amberle's heart gave a warm jolt: she'd made it closer than ever before.

"You've really made progress these past days," Ander continued, warming her with praise. She wished she could have seen his face, even as she could picture it clearly in her mind: his dark hair, curly against his damp skin, his easy smile.

"I've had a good teacher," she said. Her voice came out breathy, which was odd considering her breathing had already calmed down. Her muscles felt warm with exertion but also because Ander was still touching her, and it was like there were waves of warmth spreading out from his touch.

It was not the first time this has happened, this sudden intimacy between then. They had begun to spend more time together during the past year. Amberle liked to think it was because she had grown up, and they were becoming more like equals, but she knew a part of it was Commander Tilton and Uncle Arion's union. Ander had lost a part of them both in a way. It didn't matter, though – it felt good that he considered her company an equally worthy pastime these days. He had always felt like more of a big brother than a father figure to her, anyway, and now –

"You are still in your head," he said. "If you want to make the last two hundred paces, you need to open up all your senses." He squeezed her knee – her thigh, really – as if to belabor the point.

"I know," she all but whispered. "It's just hard to… to find something to hold onto. The trees are there, and the ground, but…" she trailed off, shaking her head minutely.

"You're afraid," Ander said. And his voice was suddenly closer, and his curved palm was sliding a little way up her thigh, thumb against the soft inner side. "You don't need to be. Trust your body. It'll know what to do. Just feel – " and suddenly his other hand was on her body, too, on her right arm, "what's around you. All of it. Go on."

Amberle squeezed her eyes shut, a little ridiculous under the blindfold but she thought it helped. He held onto her lightly and she tried to concentrate on him alone, the fingers wrapped loosely around her arm, his other hand leaving her thigh to come to rest flat on her stomach. She could feel his breath, just a hint of it across her face; she could tell Ander was kneeling, standing a little taller than her as usual, and she tilted her head up accordingly.

"I feel you," she said, regaining a little of her composure.

"Good," he said. His voice was low now, and it sent a shiver through her despite the warmth of the summer air and his hands and her skin. "Now –" and she could hear him swallow, a little dry click of his throat, "– keep it up. Whatever I do, let your body do what it wants. Don't let it trap you."

And then his hands were moving again, suddenly with much more force and determination, and Amberle was gasping as he pulled her up on her knees, closer to him, the hand on her arm coming up to curl lightly around her neck, the one on her stomach sliding down, between her –

"Oh," she said, dumbly, surprised and senses flooded with _everything_; she had thought they were close before but they really weren't; now, she could feel there was only an inch between their chests, if that. His scent was heady, sweaty but not repulsive in the least, with a hint of something familiar (familial, she thought), of leather and something sweet that made her think of his clothing, carelessly thrown on but made of the finest silks.

The thumb of his left hand was pressed gently against her throat, over the pulse point. She almost got lost in the beating of her blood again, thrown into focus by his touch, but she made herself concentrate on him instead, the sensation of his fingertips collaring her neck. His other hand had frozen halfway on its journey downward – after a little while she could tell it was his palm pressing against her abdomen, his fingertips reaching just low enough that if she rocked her hips the just tiniest bit... She strained her muscles to stay still, keenly aware of every fiber of her being.

"Stay here," he said, and there was nothing hiding what this was now in his voice. "Let go of your body."

It was almost like a command, only not; Ander wasn't guiding him as a trainer, just giving her permission.

And Amberle took it, gladly, forcing herself to think of him, what was in front of her. She was aware she was rolling her hips forward, but it was a detached feeling, almost unconnected to the slow pleasure rolling in waves down her thighs. It was hard to ignore his hand sliding down until he was grinding the heel of his hand against her, firmer than the tips of his fingers, but Amberle concentrated on his other hand instead.

Ander cradled her head and brought their foreheads together. His soft breath was hot on her cheeks and mouth, and she imagined his face, eyes open, lips parted. She strained her hearing and swore she could hear him bite his lip, just the slightest bit, to keep from making a sound.

"Now who's overthinking," she said, and delighted in his reaction, a small surprised laugh, cut off quickly but tickling her lips.

And lower down her body, as if a prize for her composure, another wave of pleasure bloomed. Amberle was aware of how wet she was under the thin, clinging fabric that separated his hand from her cunt. It didn't make her jump or stutter, though, it was just an awareness in the back of her mind, and she let her body move of its own accord.

"By Ellcrys, you're –" Ander was panting now, a little bit of something like desperation in the way he swallowed again and shuffled the tiniest bit closer until Amberle was pulled almost flush against him, just allowing his hand to continue rubbing her between her legs.

She wished she could have moved her arms. She wanted to reach for his hand, guide it exactly where she wanted it. The pressure was good, but she wanted more, something sharper and harder.

As if reading her mind, Ander moved his hand, and she could tell his thumb hooked on the band of her leggings, dragging down just enough so he could slip his hand between the tight fabric and her skin.

It made her thrill, but she kept her focus on his face and left hand, the fingers of which were buried in her hair, rubbing little circles around the base of her skull. She licked her lips and – she'd judged the distance right, she thought giddily – caught his upper lip as well. He gasped into her mouth, not moving closer but not pulling back either. She could feel the roughness of his stubble, just a brief moment of foreign texture against the tip of her tongue.

She felt victorious, in control, and again, a reward: finally, his long fingers slid along her slick, sensitive skin. She was so wet it almost felt like his fingers could slide right up her cunt in one smooth movement, but he halted it. The angle must have been a little difficult, but Amberle let her body react to him as it wanted to, widened her stance and rolled her hips until she felt the pad of his thumb against her clitoris.

"Oh, Amberle –" and there was nothing authoritative in his voice anymore, just wonder and lust, and he rubbed a circle around her, sending sparks everywhere. Her clitoris was swollen and sensitive and she felt like she was pulsing against him, wondering if he felt her heartbeat, if he was thinking about it at all.

She rubbed her nose in the corner of his mouth, focused on their skin touching there and let her throbbing cunt answer to his touch as it pleased. She licked again, straight at his mouth now, across his upper lip and teeth. She could sense him turning his head, as if to chase her mouth and she pulled back, smiling. She knew he was looking at her.

Ander moved closer but instead of her mouth he pressed a kiss just below the blindfold, on her cheekbone, then one lower on her cheek. His left hand had drifted down, on her shoulder and then down her arm, to the crook of her elbow where her arm bent back. Her shoulders should have ached with her hands being tied for so long, but she realized they didn't; the pressure in her joints just turned into another kind of pleasure swirling around in her body.

Amberle's breathing was growing harder and she didn't hold back the whine that it turned into when a sweep of her uncle's thumb sent another wave of pleasure through her. Ander moved his hand, then, abandoning her clitoris and curling his hand so he could reach her better. It would have been much easier without her tight leggins in the way but he managed, and Amberle felt two of his fingers breach her.

Her whine turned almost into a grunt, but she ignored it, letting her hips grind down. She felt impossibly wet and a little obscene, imagining her leggings must have been soaked through, his fingers coated to the knuckles with her slickness.

"There, there –" she whispered, not sure how to guide him, muscles inside her tensing. His fingertips were almost against the right spot, and it was frustrating, not being able to just will him to move like her own hand, but he kept moving, trying, like figuring her out. She knew he had a lot of experience, he must have been able to –

Amberle tried to refocus and let him do the work, even if the desperation inside her was mounting. Ander had kissed his way down her jaw, and dropped the next one on the side of her neck. He worried the skin there, and Amberle held onto the feeling, the almost promise of his teeth against her skin. He didn't break the skin, though, instead kissing another spot, and another. His mouth was soft, dry lips brushing lightly across her skin, but his breathing was coming out hard. Amberle thought of his cock, which she had yet to feel against her body. He sounded as aroused as she felt, and she thought if only she could have lost the blindfold she could clearly see it, reach for it.

Suddenly, she wanted nothing more than her uncle's cock in her. The thought of Ander fucking her was so heady, Amberle felt brazen just thinking about it, about the fact that it could really happen, someday, maybe – and she realized he had found the perfect spot inside her cunt and _was_ really fucking her, even if it was just with his strong, slender fingers.

She gasped for breath, joy flashing through her mind; she was happy, of all things, of how well they fit together, his fingers inside her and her hips rocking against them, of her body knowing exactly what her mind wanted, for a moment –

And then it was all a little too much and her thigh muscles tensed up and he just rubbed her harder and Amberle wanted to stop him, keep him from bringing over the edge just yet. It was hopeless; she clenched around him uncontrollably. Whining, she dropped her head and buried her face in his shoulder.

He ceased the motions of his fingers and waited for her to relax, but didn't pull his hand out of her leggings just yet. Amberle rubbed her face on the side of his neck, mirroring him. Her blindfold was coming loose. She felt another kiss on her cheek.

They stayed like that for a while, breathing each other in. His fingers started moving again, a slow gentle drag back and forth, and she was still sensitive enough that the sensation tipped her back into growing arousal. Amberle felt light and giddy.

"I think," she said, pausing to taste his skin, savour the salt of his sweat, "I like this training technique."

Ander made a sound somewhere between a laugh and snort right into her ear, uncovered by the blindfold slipping away, and she shivered. He slid his hand away, but didn't move back, instead using his freed hand to touch the small of her back and pull her closer, just a hair's breadth away from the alluring heat of his body.

"In that case," – and he sounded as happy as she felt – "I think we should continue the practice."


End file.
